02 February 2016

Do Murderers Get Birthday Cake In Prison?

Dear Colton – There
is a photo stored away in a box somewhere in my closet from about 26 years
ago.I was 13 years old and
holding you as a baby who had just been born.Your birth was such a cause for celebration to all of us who
had been close to your family.Your mom prayed for you for many years.My mom, her best friend, prayed right along with her.You were a miracle and it brought us
all such joy to welcome you.You
were a pretty big boy, too, getting stuck on your way earthside, but you made
it and we all celebrated your arrival.

I remember one
day when you were about 6 months old, we were all sitting on the pool deck at
my parents house. My mother and I, and you with your mother.
Somehow you tumbled into the pool and for some reason, my reflexes were the
quickest. I jumped right in and pulled you out, and you would survive.
You weren't in the water very long at all, but any mother who has been through
any situation remotely similar will tell you that even half a second seems like
an eternity when your child is in danger. We were all thankful you were
safe.

Over the
years, as I'm sure you remember, you spent more time with our family. We
were neighbors, after all, and our parents were very good friends. My
grandmothers kitchen fed more people than any other in our community, I can say
with near certainty. She was known for her baking, her hospitality, her
warm and welcoming demeanor, her grace. But you know all this because you
were lucky enough to be a part of that throughout your life.
Unfortunately, you would ultimately make the choice to be the person who would
tragically and brutally end her life.

You are
celebrating your birthday today, and in less than a week we will, again, see
another anniversary of her death. Seven years now, it has been since I hugged
her; since my children have run up to her with their own arms outstretched,
squealing with delight, "Gammy!". Seven years now, I have been on
this journey, the survivor of a murder victim. And I have asked myself
countless questions. I have asked the universe countless questions, and I
have held many conversations with God (or who/whatever is in charge of all of
this). I'm still no closer to having answers, but I still ask, and
wonder.

I wonder if
you would have done what you did if my children and I were still living
there. I often wish that I would have never moved out of her house.
Neither of us can go back and erase what happened, but I know if it were
possible I would do anything I possibly could to try to keep it from happening.
Would you? Do you live with regrets like we do? Do you enjoy celebrating
your birthday in prison, knowing that it is what the rest of your life is going
to be? Do you even celebrate your birthday there? Do you get a birthday
cupcake in prison? Does it taste like prison food?

As much as we
know that no one can go back and change the past, and most of all, we are not
at fault for what YOU chose to do, it still isn't easy to think back to how we
possibly could have prevented it from happening. But then again, would
you have taken my life too? The life of my not-quite five year old
children? Would I have heard you come in? Would I have had the strength
to fight you? You did break every bone in her beautiful face. Would I have
killed you? Would I have tried? So many questions, but so pointless to ask
because it is what it is.

It is what it
is. Something I have said many times over the past seven years. Do
you ever wonder how life would be for all of us if you hadn't broken into her
house that night and taken her life? I do. Often. And there are times
that I would like to ask you, in person. But I don't know if I'm ready
for that yet. I feel like I have to be at a place of total forgiveness
before I can, again, look in your eyes.

I remember the
last time I looked into your eyes. The day I stood in a courtroom packed full,
reading the hardest words I've ever had to write, as you were sentenced. Your
hair was long and greasy and I could tell that jail had not been friendly to
you. And when you had the chance to apologize, I looked right into your
eyes. A few tears escaped and slid down your cheek. I'm not quite sure
whether I thought them sincere at that moment, nor do I know for sure what I
think now, all these years later.

I do know that
many days go by that I don't even think about you or about what you did.
That's a huge blessing because I know the three months my father lived after
finding her were plagued with the image of her in the condition you left her
in. While it hurts to know he had to deal with that, I am thankful that I am
able to live without being overcome by my grief. I know that my memories
of my grandmother are warm, comforting and span nearly four decades, and also
include stories of the generations before her. The roots here run deep as
do the lessons my grandmother taught all of us.

Lessons?
Well, even though you are a murderer, you are celebrating a birthday today and
for that, you should be thankful, even if you are in prison, because, again, I
saved your life. Well, actually, my grandmother, the woman whose life you
took, she saved your life this time. For she was a woman full of grace,
strong in her faith, in her belief in her God and she would have let her God be
your judge.

The person I
was before this event would have sent you off to your death without a second
thought or regret. But the person who my grandmother was would have
forgiven you and prayed for you to find God.

Perhaps one
day I will forgive you, and actually send this letter. For now, I'm
content with not hating you, and being okay with you possibly having cake.